Who are the people in my Twitterhood?

Pre-note: Originally posted where I share bits and blips, I've been asked to post this here on the main blog. Here 'tis. :-)

Note: As I was writing this I considered defining Twitter terms, explaining them to help readers who don't use Twitter. Instead of doing that, I'll post this link that discusses the basics of Twitter.

A few days ago I met a very cool woman whose Twitter name is @choley. She was funny, sweet, and she and my husband (@jdenkmire) have a lot in common. As we sat eating ice cream I began an argument with myself (in my head). I knew then I didn't want to follow her on Twitter, though I couldn't say that to her at the time. I did lay the groundwork, though, explaining in a blurty and rambly way that I don't follow many people and that it would be possible if I followed her I might unfollow her. This is the kind of thing that I worry a little bit about. Did she take that personally? I consider this but I have to let it go. It definitely wasn't about her. It's just that that's not how I use Twitter.

Over the past six months or so I've gotten into tweeting. I've found the challenge of 140 characters a lot of fun. I like resisting the urge to Tweet only the banal and tediously ordinary as I try to stay slightly creative or at least, random. What interests me in the tweets I read are just those things, the element of surprise, randomness, entertainment. I like to read the same kinds of things I like to share (though I count on the tweets I read to be funnier than those I send out!). No doubt about it, I also tend to slip over to Twitterrific to post very mundane bits and thoughts. As I said, I try to resist that urge but am definitely not always successful.

I've written before about the labels some people place on certain kinds of Twitter users. Even with my low numbers, some might call me a "Twitter Snob." There are real social rules in Twitter, some quite mainstream (using #hashtags, for example), and some specific to smaller subcultures. I happen to be someone who doesn't seek out followers. More touchy, however, is the fact that I almost never follow-back. I don't fall into the camp of those who believe it's polite to follow back, so they almost always do.

When I first started using Twitter I added the small handful of people I already knew were using it (like my husband and our friends from Houston). I looked at Josh's tweets and picked out a few of those folks to follow (like @videosawyer and @amycasey). Josh was getting really into it. I wasn't. I didn't see the appeal and was much more interested in Facebook. His list of followeds and followers grew and grew. He's got around 250 followeds and followers now. Among some Tweeple that number is actually low. Compare that to my about 50 followeds and about 100 followers and I'm not even close to being a real player in the Twitterverse. (I don't even need a system like Tweetdeck to sort my incoming tweets.)

But as I talked with this super nice local woman over ice cream, why did I know I didn't want to follow her?

I figured it out. There are two issues related to why I don't do much following. In the case of the local woman, it was because she was local that I didn't want to follow her. I don't use Twitter to find new friends. I don't want new friends. I don't have time for more people in my life. I don't mean this at all to be unfriendly. It's just practical. I've got some very close friends offline and a few good ones online, too. I just had a baby. I've got an almost-six year old, a husband, a business with active clients, a rental property to manage. As I write this I realize just how taboo it is to say out loud, "I don't want to know you" to people, even to an anonymous Internet based "you." By following local people it will become more and more awkward if, let's say, I want to unfollow someone. If I've met someone offline how would it not be insulting to unfollow them? Following local people creates a sense of community. I see that as Josh gets more involved (hear him on Monday in his second appearance on the Word on the Tweet podcast). There are great advantages to what Twitter can do in bringing people together in their offline worlds.

But that's just not how I use Twitter.

It's not just the locals I mostly avoid. I've already got my online friends there (like @PaulaLight and @SourGrapes). It's only very rarely that the mood strikes me to start following a new regular person, like @EmmaJaneR (who was recently described as "a normal" by @lucypepper (who I consider to be a bit of an Internet star, though I don't follow her)). When I do start following a regular person, I frequently change my mind after just a day or two. It's not that I have some high fallutin' standard they need to meet, it's just my need to keep the stream simple.

I've got a handful of celebrities (perfect for me: entertaining and random like @robcorddry or @michaelianblack) and a few information Tweeters like @theonion or @eatmedaily. Too many more, regular or otherwise, will make me feel cluttered and overwhelmed. Even the few I've got can be too much at times (it's been ages since I've clicked a link shared by The Onion).

Again, I'm not looking to make new connections. I was talking through all these things with Josh the other day and I think he nailed it, helped me figure out what I'm trying to do with Twitter (or, what I'm trying to avoid). Despite my outgoing personality and openly sharing online expressions, I am an intensely private person. I don't let many people in to my life. The way I use Twitter is a good example of how I need to control the gates. I need space. I need to control (ah! the therapist's favorite word!) who gets in to my life. Having an audience for my tweets (followers) is one thing. It's fine. It's flattering, really (even those who have thousands, if they don't unfollow me, I'm amazed). I sometimes even consider going out and finding followers just because it tickles me to know people are reading my tweets. But, again, I have no desire to follow more people. I have enough to read. I have enough people I want to know about on a regular basis. Any more and I might completely lose my mind.

It shouldn't be an insulting thing, though, that I don't want to follow you. A great part of why I don't want to follow you is because you might be interesting. I might want to take the time to read your tweets, respond to them, and learn even more. I can't add more to my life right now. Of course, I haven't built any walls, so some people will get in. That's fine. But there's got to be a limit. I have a great time tweeting. I hope people enjoy (or are able to ignore or feel free to unfollow) my tweets. I get a kick out of the tweets I get to read every day from the 10 folks who tweet of the fifty or so I follow.

I'm happy with my Twitterhood. Are you happy with yours? What's your Twitter method/style?


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Of course, if you use Twitter and want to follow me, please feel free. :-)

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Two Loves

One of the reasons pregnancy lasts so long must be to help everyone adjust: a new baby is coming! I'm not sure who needed the time more, Maya (the almost-six year old), or me (the almost-forty).

The relationship I have with Maya, like so many parents with their children, combines the deepest love and intimacy. She nursed until she was 5.5 so we've also had an especially intimate physical relationship. We've talked with her as a tiny human being, a Real person, since the day she was born. We are teaching her to assess her own needs and work to meet them. We do this in many ways, but we started in her infancy. When she cried, we understood she was communicating something so we tried to understand. She's learning that expressing her needs is the first step in meeting them. We shared simple sign language with her so she began talking in a very real way at around nine months old. We communicate constantly. We have a history.

Enter Althea. Now four weeks old, Althea has only just left her state of being "love in the air." (That's the way we answered, "Where was I?" when Maya asked about our lives before her.) Althea's capacity to express love is debatable. There's no doubt, however, she *feels* love though it hides behind her limited communication skills. She feels it and I do, too. The newness itself makes it special. Anticipation of this love growing warms me. Though she can't tell me yet in any of the traditional ways, I feel her loving me.

Before Althea was born I was scared. I don't know if it's because I was a first child myself or simply because my relationship with Maya is so close, but, at about 7 months into the pregnancy I realized I was grieving. I was terrified I'd lose what I have with Maya. I didn't know how I would share my love, let alone my time. For all of the children's books teaching us that love doesn't come in limited supplies, I didn't believe it. I worried. I felt I was abandoning Maya with this new baby.

After reaching an emotional crisis point I identified the fear. I was able to counsel myself into understanding that, yes, things were going to change, but Maya was not losing me. I was not discarding her just because this new person was entering my life.

Someone told me to think of love like the flame of a candle. When you tip another candle to it, the flame grows bigger as the second candle ignites. Then both burn strong.

Two unique loves are expanding my world. The one, full of history and depth. The other, new and visceral. It turns out there's more than enough room in my heart for both. And, even better, loving both of them makes all the love burn stronger.


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Why, why TMI? (part 2)

Baffling my Father, I posted photos of my ovaries on Facebook. Drawing repeated accusations of "TMI" from friends and strangers, I frequently share very personal details of my life online. Most TMI calls follow bodily function topics, though sometimes people get riled when I just talk about feelings or other personal things. Too navel-gazing, it's TMI.

Last week Maya asked, "When is the next TMI Tuesday?" She's heard me discuss this "holiday" celebrated by a small handful of us on Facebook. She was particularly delighted to hear the example I gave about my friend admitting to peeing in the shower. I explained to Maya (almost-six years old) that especially on Tuesdays Stephanie H. and I try to stretch ourselves to share more than most people find socially acceptable. I push my own boundaries. I do this intentionally, just as I've written about myself and my opinions for years. With intention. I learn where my lines are as I approach (or accidentally cross) them.

Many people make a quick leap that sharing personal information equals selfish self-centered self-absorption. It's been my experience, however, that sharing very personal information can actually help other people around me. I do get complaints (TMI!) and the way I share is certainly not meant for everyone, but, I also get loads of compliments. At least a few people respond with gratitude that I'm sharing as much as I do. Sometimes I'm flooded with messages thanking me. They tell me it makes them feel better about their own experiences. Some say it makes them feel less alone. Some just write to say they appreciate my honesty and openness. My favorite comments are when they say feel emboldened to also share more of their personal stories with others. It feels amazing to know that just by sharing myself other people are having good experiences.

Of course, there are other reasons I share "TMI" that are much more directly about me and my own interests. I enjoy seeing what is comfortable for me and what isn't. I like learning about people I know as they respond to what I've said (or shown). I especially enjoy the thrill of knowing I've been "out there" (exposed) and still feel whole and safe -- and, yes, I'll admit there's an element of "thrill." I brazenly show that I'm interested in myself without also trying to prove that I'm definitely not the most interesting thing in my world. That's a given (for me).

I learn lessons like crazy doing TMI stuff. For example, when I post photos online I now only try to share them in a more private way so no one is forced to view them without making a choice to do so. (Like, "click here to see this" rather than just posting them so they'll show up on everyone's pages.) I discover how other people feel about the boundaries I push. Many times my friendships have grown because of these nutty things I share. Often that growth comes from learning how different we are. In my book, appreciating and respecting differences in personal boundaries is one of the most special parts of any friendship.

It's interesting to me that those closest to me are not at all TMI sharers. In fact, now that I think about it, all but one of my top five closest friends absolutely hate sharing personal information in public. A friend of mine who values her privacy more than most I know asked me to explain why I do this extra-sharing online. I talked to her about some of these things I've outlined here. I also explained that I just find it fun. Set aside any altruistic or self-reflective reasons for sharing TMI. For me, it's just plain fun to write about life as I'm living it or as I've lived it. If someone reads what I've written, that's fantastic. It's a true honor if they take the time to read my TMI. But having readers is only the cherry on the already well-frosted, yummy and moist dark chocolate cake.


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letting go, holding on

It's not that I love her less, or that I have less concern for her safety. It's just that I trust she'll be okay.

When Maya was born I would rarely let anyone else hold her. I wouldn't leave the room without her. As a newborn she was always within reach. Josh and I look back and realize that too often we were even reluctant to have him watch her unless I really wasn't available. What a shame. It all turned out well, though, and we've got a nicely independent but connected and attached little almost-six year old.

Now with Althea, she can hang out with my parents or, of course, Josh, and it doesn't phase me at all. I know they'll bring her to me if she needs to nurse. I realize the only real difference between me and them as a caregiver is these milkers. And, sure, she needs to be with me (nursing) about every 2-4 hours without fail. But, in the between times, any responsible adult in our family has the skills needed to make sure she's cared for.

I write about this because I do have a twinge of guilt about this freedom and I need to shake it. Taking a shower while Althea's sleeping on the king sized bed and Josh has an ear out for her seems luxurious compared with the tether I kept myself on with Maya. The tiny twinge simply squeaks out at me, "Do you not care as much?" I tell it to settle down, remind myself Maya would have been fine, too. I was just a new mother then and only trusted myself (with Josh coming in a not-close-enough second). Just because I already see Althea growing up as a child more adjusted to non-Mother caregivers as acceptable alternatives doesn't mean I care less. I just trust a whole lot more.


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Althea's Birth, Part 1

"Of course, since she's pre-term, we'll take your baby to the NICU for 24 to 48 hours after she's born," said the nurse.

"No. You will not," I said.

"Well, she could have breathing problems, and I'm sure you want the best for your baby," he continued.

"Yes, I want the best for my baby. She'll be staying with me or we'll go to a different hospital," I said, but did not shout.

"But you see, when babies are born early, there are all sorts of problems that can happen," he insisted, clearly insulted and flustered.

"That's fine. If she's not well, I want you to take her and care for her. If she is well, she's staying with me. This is not up for discussion."

"But, we have to monitor her."

"You'll monitor her while she's with me."

"But she'll have to be in the NICU."

"She can go to the NICU if she's not well, otherwise, she'll be with me."

"Your husband can be with her."

"My husband can't nurse her. She needs to be with me if she's fine."

"I'm going to go talk to someone."

So began the ridiculous several hour argument with... I lost count... hospital staff members. Hospital protocol. Fine, if she's got problems. But she might have problems. Fine, take care of her if she has problems. But she's going to be 4 weeks early, she might need assistance. Fine, give her all the assistance she needs, but only if she needs it. Otherwise, she's staying with me.

Hours and hours. At least 5 different people, doctors and nurses. I'm pretty sure it was more.

Earlier that morning, at 9:45am on Wednesday April 8 I was waking from a nap. There was a POP feeling in my vagina, a bit of a shock or sting feeling, and some liquid trickling out of me. I thought, how weird! That's just like it was with Maya (with Maya I had a dream that her feet switched position and POP went the bag o'). I stood up, and, yes, indeed was flooded by warm water. I touched it, smelled it, not stinky like I'm told you'd find with pee. Waddled to the bathroom, leaking all the way, checked the toilet paper, clear. Amniotic fluid for sure. Waddled back to the bedroom. Flooding. Grabbed a pair of sweat pants to be my diaper. Waddled into the hall, told feverish Maya "my water broke." She said, "what does that mean?" (She knows what it means, but I'm sure she didn't at that moment.) I said, "Althea's coming today. She's coming now." Maya squealed. We went, me waddling, to Josh's office. He was clearly on a work call, but I still interrupted. "My water broke." I waited for this to sink in. He interrupted his work call, explained he had to go, apologized again and again, and hung up.

We had nothing packed. We had no plan. The night before I had decided, finally, to give up with trying to get her to turn and just schedule a c-section. That evening (Tuesday) I actually thought I might be in labor (see comments I've made on Facebook and emails). But, having never been in labor before I assumed it was a bad case of intestinal troubles. I was thinking it was labor enough that I timed the experience (about 4 minutes at 10:35 and again at 11:40ish). We called the midwives, called my parents to come for Maya, planned on meeting at Maine Medical Center (best choice for early babies).

All was going well until the idiot nurse decided to try and tell me they were going to take my baby from me for 24-48 hours. What a time for me to have to go into hard ass mode. I do it fine when it's something I care about, but, it was exhausting. Knowing when to kiss someone's ass, knowing when to be so firm it's scary to some people, knowing when to say "I need to talk to your supervisor," etc. Knowing the staff out there will be talking about the drama, the difficult patient, etc. It's very, very exhausting. I just wanted to meet my new daughter.

Well? Guess what? In all of those hours, through all of those people, it turns out no one -- not ONE person -- thought to mention that as soon as I was well enough to move around (wheelchair or whatever) I could go be with her in the NICU. That I'd be able to hold her and nurse her. No one mentioned that. No one thought it important to say that while Josh could be with her every second, I could, too, as soon as I was able.

What the freaking fucking holy hell stupid ass miscommunication. Our room full of people (Josh, Maya, Brenda (midwife), Maureen (midwife), my parents) all heard it the same way I did. Not one of us ever got the sense that they were saying anything but, "The baby will go to the NICU no matter what and you will not see her until she's out." It sounded crazy at the time, but the staff were so dreadfully committed to hospital protocol the idea that anything about this was reasonable didn't seem possible.

Before I went in for the surgery we had it agreed that the NICU nurse who was responsible for deciding how well Althea was after she was born would not *assume* she'd go to the NICU, but instead would evaluate her and consider a lower level of monitoring for this late-pre-term baby. We all knew it was likely she'd find something that would require the NICU stay, but there was something reassuring in knowing that she understood how important it was that she make the decision based on the case, not on protocol. I'm sorry to say the hospital visit was full of frustrations involving miscommunications or staff obsessed with protocol despite our particular circumstances.

The surgery was easy enough. I didn't puke from the anesthesia which was nice. They also actually showed her to me as soon as she was out which they didn't for Maya. I was hit with my love for her on that first look. She was covered in blood and goo, and I loved her. Of course, it takes a few days for the love to sink in, but this was a nice surprise.

When Althea was born, at 5lbs 15oz (why does everyone always ask about and report a baby's weight?), she did have some troubles. Josh was with her for every second of the evaluation and beyond. I don't remember what the troubles were, but they involved not breathing right and something else. They brought her to me and I held her, though I didn't try to nurse her (my decision, I wanted her to be tended to).

Josh went with her to the NICU where they attached her to heart, oxygen, and breathing monitors and put her in an isolette (I think that's what they are called). After they finished with me (placenta out, given to the midwives, though I'm still not sure what of several options I'll be doing with it), they took me to the room to recover. It's a bit hazy. But, when they were going to transfer me to the "Mother and Baby" floor, the nurse who was helping me into the wheelchair told me we'd be going to the NICU immediately. Yay!

Flash forward to Friday evening and she was with us in our room at the hospital. Once she was with us, my milk really came in. Her nursing strength quadrupled. She gained back weight she'd lost since birth (even though it's typical for babies to lose weight in the first few days after they're born). And, mostly, we started to get to know her. When she was attached to all those tubes and wires, it was hard to bond with her. The nurses often made it awkward to be with her as much as we wanted, too. More on that later, though.

Maya has surprised us with the fascination she clearly feels for her baby sister. Always wants to hold her, admire her, be near her. In fact, as I write this, Althea is sleeping in my lap and Maya's arm is flung across my thigh acting as a sort of pillow for Althea's snorting little face. I am so proud of Maya -- we'd never been away from each other for so long, she and I. Of course she visited during the days, but nothing is the same as being together at night.

We've got pictures of Althea, of course... she's tiny... she was about 4 weeks early, but now on day 5 of life (that's how they say it in the hospital), she's a nursing fiend. She sleeps most of the time, wakes to nurse, and has a few alert and awake sessions each day. She's also a pooping fiend. Every diaper and then some. Some day I'll detail the rest of the experience in the hospital, but, for now, I wanted to give friends and family an account of the highlights of her birth. Our whole family is resting comfortably. Happy but still a bit in shock, I think, from what we've just been through. This week (with a lot of my parents' continued help) will be able finding our centers again, getting grounded. All those things we need to do to have a strong foundation. Above all else, though, we are all so grateful that Althea has joined our family. She just squeaked in her sleep her agreement she's glad she's here. Eeep!



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